Page 15 of An Alien for the Future

“No!” It’s not a shout, more like a sudden utterance, one that has me pausing, going still as I blink at him. “No medics,” he says.

The force of his denial vibrates through the air, a stark contrast to his previous playfulness. A stronger wave of unease washes over me, cold against the day’s warmth.

“No medics,” he repeats, softer this time, his gaze dropping to where I’m holding the antiseptic gauze. “Please.”

I swallow, my hand hovering over his foot. “Okay,” I say slowly, really darn happy my voice is steady because my heart ain’t. “No medics.”

But he’s observant, or, at the very least, he can read my apprehension.

“It’s…complicated,” he says finally, so low I almost don’t hear it.

Complicated. Mmhm.

He’s a fugitive, isn’t he.

A criminal.

I wouldn’t be frickin’ surprised. I found himhiding in a bush. I’m suddenly three times happy that I called Catherine and told her of his arrival.

There’s a lump in my throat as I continue working, feigning control even as my mind races.

If he is a criminal, I sure as hell need him to leave. Maybe I need to set Gertrude on him, have the oogas chase him from my land.

With a sigh, I say, “Alright.” I’m not going to push for information I might not need to know. When the alien FBI scours down this place I can say I’m just an innocent bystander. “I’ll wrap the wound, but you’ll still need to see someone who can patch it up properly.”

I don’t meet his gaze now, because I’m sure he’ll see everything I’m thinking in my eyes. The air surrounding us seems to have changed too. Filled with uncertainty and potential danger.

“It isn’t what you think,” he suddenly says, shifting in the chair and leaning forward the moment I remove the gauze from the wound and wrap his foot tight. He’s close enough now that I can see the slight shimmer in his scales.

“Hmm?” I glance at him, feigning ignorance. My acting skills are totally up to par for when the authorities come knocking. “What’s that?”

He grunts, a soft laugh brushing through his nose. So…maybe my actingisn’treally that great. “It isn’t what you think,” he says again.

“What do you mean? What isn’t what I think?” I don’t know what he’s talking about, remember?

“To call a medic all the way out here will waste a hefty block of credits.”

My gaze shifts to him now.

Is he…broke? Is that it? Has this warrior, this proud alien, fallen on hard times? The thought, as unexpected as it is unsettling, stirs a strange mix of sympathy and apprehension within me. To not want to spend money, even when there’s a massive hole in your foot, must be some kind of sacrifice.

I almost do a Hail Mary. May such hard times never find me.

Especially not on a planet where I probably have no employable skills. Lord knows I haven’t earned one credit yet that could buy a decent cup of coffee, let alone afford alien healthcare. I’ve been living off the funds New Horizons gifted me. I shudder, picturing myself bartering bluebread for a tetanus shot. No, ma’am, not gonna happen. This alien’s just proof I have to get this farm up and bringing money in soon. Financial stability is a must-have, not a nice-to-have.

But it’s not like I don’t understand. If healthcare here is anything like it was back home, without a solid insurance plan things can get tough. So, I nod, setting the alien’s foot down on the box as I stand. I’ve done about all I can do to help him now. I can only leave him with a prayer and hope he accepts the debt and actually goes to a medic on his own time.

“Well, that’s all done now,” I say, gathering up the scattered supplies. I avoid his gaze, focusing on the task, suddenly hyper-aware of the quiet intimacy of my little cottage, the scent of antiseptic mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly cut grass.

“I don’t know how you’ll manage to get to the town on it,” I continue, annoyed that my voice has gone a bit breathless, “but you’re welcome to rest here for a few hours until you can call a friend or someone to pick you up.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by an ooga baying in the field. I glance at him, expecting a grateful nod, a plan of action. Instead, I find him watching me, his gaze intense, those yellow eyes boring into me like they can see right through my skin, my bones, into the very heart of me.

I busy myself cleaning up the mess, my movements a bit too brisk now, a bit too frantic. I need space. Need to breathe. Need to process this whole bizarre encounter before it turns my carefully ordered world upside down.

Turning to head back inside, I’m suddenly eager to put some distance between us, to escape the intensity of his gaze, the unsettling questions swirling in my mind. But just as I reach the door, he speaks, his voice a low rumble that seems to stop time itself.

“Thank you.” I don’t know why those two words hold me frozen. Why I can’t move. “For everything. You did not need to help me…but you did. You saw me…not asotherbut as a being in need.”

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